'I don't know exactly where it is,' she said. 'Somewhere around Osterlen, I think. Maybe at Brosarp's hill. Astrid gave it to me.'
'When was it taken?'
'Last summer, in July. It was Magnus's birthday.'
'Magnus?'
She pointed to the boy who was shouting at the unknown photographer. Wallander pulled out the notebook he had for once remembered to bring.
'What's his full name?'
'Magnus Holmgren. He lives in Trelleborg.'
'Who are the rest?'
Wallander took down their names and where they lived. Suddenly he remembered something else.
'Who took the picture?' he asked.
'Astrid's camera had a self-timing mechanism.'
'So she took it?'
'I just told you the camera had a self-timer!'
Wallander moved on.
'This is a birthday party for Magnus, but why are they dressed up?'
'That was something they did. I can't see anything strange about it.'
'I don't either, I just have to ask these questions.'
She lit a cigarette. Wallander felt she was on the verge of breaking down again.
'So Astrid has a lot of friends,' he said.
'Not that many,' Eva Hillstrom said. 'But good ones.'
She took up the photo again and pointed to the other girl.
'Isa wasn't with them this year at Midsummer,' she said. 'Unfortunately she fell ill.'
It took a moment for her words to sink in. Then Wallander understood.
'You mean that this other girl was supposed to have been with them?'
'She fell ill.'
'And so it was just the three of them? And they went ahead with the party and then took off together for a trip to Europe?'
'Yes.'
Wallander looked down at his notes.
'What's her full name?'
'Isa Edengren. Her father is a businessman. They live in Skarby.'
'What has she said about the trip?'
'That nothing had been decided in advance. But she's sure they've gone. They always took their passports with them on these occasions.'
'Have they sent her any postcards?'
'No.'
'Doesn't she think that's strange?'
'Yes.'
Eva Hillstrom put out her cigarette.
'Something's happened,' she said. 'I don't know what it is, but Isa's wrong. They haven't left. They're still here.'
Wallander saw that there were tears in her eyes.
'Why won't anyone listen to me?' she asked. 'Only one person listened, but now he's gone too.'
Wallander held his breath.
'Only one person has listened to you,' he said. 'Is that correct?'
'Yes.'
'Do you mean the police officer who visited you at the end of June?'
She looked at him with surprise. 'He came many times,' she said. 'Not just then. During July he came every week, and a couple of times this week as well.'
'Do you mean Officer Svedberg?'
'Why did he have to die?' she said. 'He was the only one who listened, the only one who was as worried as I was.'
Wallander was silent. Suddenly he had nothing to say.
CHAPTER TEN
The breeze was so gentle that sometimes he didn't feel it at all. He counted how often he actually felt the wind on his face, just to make the time go a little faster. He was going to add this to his list of pleasures in life, the joys of the happy person. He had remained hidden behind a large tree for several hours. The fact that he was so early gave him a feeling of satisfaction.
It was still a warm evening. When he had woken that morning, he had known that the time had come to go public. He couldn't wait any longer. He had slept for exactly eight hours, like he normally did. Somewhere in his subconscious the decision had been made. He was going to recreate the events that had occurred 50 days ago.
He got up around 5 a.m., again like always, making no exception to his routine although this was his day off. After drinking a cup of the tea that he ordered directly from Shanghai, he rolled away the red carpet in the living room and did his morning exercises. After 20 minutes he measured his heart rate, wrote it down in a notebook, and took a shower. At 6.15 a.m. he sat down to work. This morning he was making his way through a large report from the department of labour that examined possible solutions to the problem of unemployment. He marked some passages with a pen, occasionally also commenting on them, but nothing really struck him as new.
He put down his pen and thought about the anonymous people who had put this meaningless report together. They are in no danger of becoming unemployed, he thought. They are never to be granted the joy of being able to see straight through daily existence to what actually mattered, the things that gave life meaning.
He read until 10 a.m., and then dressed and went shopping. He made lunch and rested for a while until around 2 p.m. He had soundproofed his bedroom. It was very expensive but worth every penny. No sounds from the street ever intruded. The windows were gone. A soundless air conditioning unit provided him with air. On one side of the room he had a large picture of the world, on which he could follow the progression of sunlight around the globe. This room was the centre of his world. Here he could think clearly about what had happened and what was going to happen. He never had to think about who he was or if he was right. Right about there being no justice in the world.
They had been at a conference in the Jomtland mountains. The director of the engineering firm he worked for had suddenly appeared in his doorway and ordered him to go. Someone had fallen sick. Naturally he agreed, although he had already made plans for that weekend. He said yes because he wanted to please his boss. The conference was on something to do with new digital technology. It was spearheaded by an older man who had invented the mechanical cash registers that were manufactured in Atvidaberg. He talked about the new era, and everyone stared down at their notebooks. On one of the last evenings, they had all decided to go to the sauna. He didn't really like being naked in front of other men, so he waited for them in the bar. He didn't know exactly how to act. Afterwards they joined him and sat drinking for a long time. Someone started telling a story about good ways to fire employees. All of the men except for him were in important positions at their companies. They told one story after another and finally looked at him. But he had never fired anyone. It never even occurred to him that he would one day be fired. He had studied hard, could do his job, had paid off his student loans, and had learned how to agree with people. Afterwards, after the catastrophe was a fact, he suddenly remembered one of the stories. A small, unpleasantly plump man from a factory in Torshalla told them about how he had once summoned an old worker and said, 'I don't know how we could have managed without you here all these years.' 'It was great,' the fat man said, laughing. 'The old guy was so proud and happy that he wasn't on guard. Then it was easy. I just said, 'But we'll just have to try, starting tomorrow.'' So the old man was fired. He often thought about that story. If it had been possible he would have gone to Torshalla and killed the person who had fired the old man like that, and had
